Last Thursday I got a message on my phone machine from the electric company that they would be cutting power to everyone in Hawkins, Texas from Saturday night to Sunday morning sometime. Oh, dear. I better prepare... first... make a list.

The top of my list was to go to the hardware store to replace my flashlight which I could not find. I knew I would also need candles, batteries, etc.

Friday morning I went to the store to fill my list. The emergency announcement had gone out to every resident in town. I had decided I needed 8 flashlights in order to have one in each room. The hardware store had only 3 flashlights, the grocery store had only 2, and Dollar General was sold out of emergency supplies.

I had to drive to another town not too far away. I had almost all I needed but heard while in one store that there was a sale on bottled water and batteries at another store. I chased down all that I thought I would need but my trip had expanded to cover 4 towns not too far from each other but further East. I finally got myself set.. I thought.

I got on the road and thought I was heading home. I decided I had gone the wrong way when I was saying Hello to Louisiana. I turned around and headed back after refilling my gas tank.

Directions were never my long suit. I was trying to follow what Google was telling me but it kept cutting out so I kept missing. I ended up in Arkansas. I turned around, refilled my gas tank. I decided I was going to follow any road going West.

That worked I eventually recognized the name of an East Texas town. I was on the right track. I kept stropping and asking directions until I go to the highway I knew would take me home. I got in very late on Friday night.

Saturday morning another announcement was left on my answering machine about the outage that might be extended to last longer. Great, I thought. I decided I would cook up some food and have it ready so that when the power went out I could continue to function, eat, and take care of the house.
I was delighted to discover that my laptop would run even without electricity. I spent the day getting everything ready. I got flash lights laid out in each room. I got my reading materials set out next to the laptop so boredom would not get to me. I got the dogs set up with reflective things on their collars so I could see them in the dark if I needed to. I got my food cooked and ready.

I worked until nearly 8 PM getting everything ready. I then decided to watch a movie for as long as we had power. I was ready....

I woke up Sunday morning with the TV going and realized I had slept through the entire outage. I knew there had been one because my electric clock was flashing 12:00. I was so tired from getting ready.. I fell asleep.
What did I do? I ate breakfast.. drank my coffee and thought about how much money I could have saved on gasoline if I had just bought the 5 flash lights and come home. I started laughing. I bet my mamma and my grandmother are laughing their heads off about right now. Mother was always getting lost and grandmother was always telling her how to get home.

I patted the walls of my little house and whispered.. Home Sweet Home. Thank you Father... I could still be in Louisiana, the outage could have gone on for a long time. Thank you for helping me cook all this chicken... I won't have to cook for days now. What a bless day today is after all.

Tags: Life Home

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There will be 2 Friday the 13th's in 2020 the first is March 13th and the last is November 13th.  Be warned.

Grandmother used to call Friday 13th, National Pigeon Poop day. She believed in Karma. When ever someone did her wrong or was rude to her she would put them on her "Poop" list. Every Friday the 13th she would carry an umbrella.

She said their were angels in charge of the list of names the pigeons were supposed to poop on that day. She said somewhere up just past cloud 9, on the left side there was a big window. She said there was one for the blue jays on the right side but those were much smaller lists. The angels would hand out the lists as the pigeons flew by to snatch them up. Apparently, you can get you name on the list by being unkind, rude, or just plain insulting to someone else.

I thought it was just Grandmother being funny until one special Friday the 13th. We were walking home from the corner store. She had her umbrella. We had run into a friend of Grandmother's with her new boy friend. The man shook hands with Grandmother and said, "You sure smell good for an old lady."

My Grandmother was shocked by the man's remark and replied "You are on my poop list; you Son of a Siberian Sea cook. Today is the day and you have no umbrella."

Grandmother's friend came to his rescue by saying, "Well, you are on my poop list dear, you are an old woman. He was just telling the truth."

We walked on and Grandmother muttered something about being called an old woman and her friend not being a young chick under her breath.

We walked a little further and were singing something about frogs having a belly ache when she suddenly noticed my shoe was untied. She stopped to tie my shoe and put her umbrella down. A pigeon dropped poop right on her head.

We both laughed. She shrugged her shoulders and said, "It is my fault for putting down my umbrella." I never forgot it either. I once again asked her if being the son of a cook was worse than being a monkey's uncle. She once again, replied it was much worse. She has no idea how long I felt sorry for the children of cooks. I had no idea what a Siberian Sea was but it must be very hard to cook if cooking it labeled you for life. I often wondered what it tasted like but did not dare ask. The logic of a six year old is somewhat flawed.

Carry a newspaper or something to cover your head on Friday the 13th. You don't know if some one has put you on their poop list. These are words of wisdom from a very wise woman. Everything else is just pigeon poop.

Tags: Memories Life Friday 13th

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My new mother had picked me up and put me in my new grandmother's lap and said, "Here by dear, this little wiggle worm will find her way into your heart and inspire your retirement." I had never heard the word "retirement." I asked grandmother what it was and she said it happens when people get to be there own boss and have time to be inspired by wiggle worms. I liked that answer. She and I became fast friends. She often spoke about her mission in life. She constantly asked me what my mission was... her way of saying, "What are your doing?" I liked the idea of always being on a mission.

At the age of six my life’s mission was to try and understand grownups. My sister and I had been adopted for about a year.  I was not the brightest crayon in the box but grandmother said I was the most colorful. I thought about everything and I ask a lot of questions.  Sometimes I confused the answer the questions.  Little did I know at the time, but that was the problem.  

My new grandmother had volunteered to help a friend of hers who had a general store and bait shop at a small lake. My father loved the idea and so it became a family weekend. There were cabins at the lake for us to stay in and even a play ground for my sister and I.

We had been adopted together and she was 2 years younger than me. Grandmother reported for duty at the general store and Mother, my sister, and I unpacked and got the cabin ready. Daddy set out to rent a boat, a pole, tackle, and everything but the fish (I think). Going fishing was not his long suit.  I think the dog is the only one who ever caught a fish... that is another story.

All was fine until we went to get the bait. We approached the front of the store and Mother read the sign out loud, “Bait, Sandwiches, and Supplies.” That did not bother me until I found out what bait was. “You make sandwiches out of those little fish? I then made a face and said, “Bait sandwiches, yuk!” Everyone laughed. I did not understand grownups.

Then an older man came in the store. He was tall, white haired, with a mustache he kept stroking on one side. He smiled when he saw my grandmother behind the counter.  He gave her a wink, and said;

“I’m looking for something in ladies lingerie.” He grinned and stared at grandmother as if she were lunch.  I really think I saw him lick his lip.

My grandmother (always the lady) stepped back and looked at him without even any hesitation or twinkle in her eye and said;

“You, dear sir, you are looking at something in lady’s lingerie...however, it is not sold here. If you did not or could not read the sign outside this is a general store with a bait shop.  This is also a family oriented facility.  Now, (she pointed to the door) you son of…(she glanced down at me staring and listening to every word) a Siberian Sea Cook, get out of here. I do not have to serve you, sir.”

The man chuckled, stroked his mustache, turned, glanced back at Grandmother, then chuckled again and left the store. Grandmother was huffing and puffing. She patted her chest and then She had turned beat red. I was curious so I asked, “Is being the son of a cook better or worse than being a monkey’s uncle?” Grandmother looked down at me in amazement, “Oh, dear it is much worse, believe me.” I shrugged my shoulders and went outside to see what had happened to the son of the cook.  For an inquisitive six year old this was worth more study.

He had walked over to his cabin. Since all the grownups were busy I followed him. I felt sorry for him being the son of a cook. When I caught up to him I told him I was sorry he was the son of a cook. I also told him it was too bad he was not a monkey’s uncle…. Grandmother said it was better. He chucked at my remarks and went inside his cabin. As I turned to head back to our cabin he brought some trash out and threw it into a big barrel. He did not say a word.  After he went back inside his cabin; my curiosity got the best of me. I went to the barrel and opened the brown paper sack. I was amazed at my found treasure.

I spotted what I thought were balloons, there were several so I picked two of them, what fun. I stuffed them in my pocket and then skipped all the way back to the store. Later that evening I decided my sister and I could fill the balloons with water, make water balloons and throw them to make them splash. I thought I was a genius.  Several of the guests were sitting around the a big community campfire and relaxing. Some were getting ready to toast marshmallows. Grandmother had closed the store for the evening.  Several family groups and our entire family were there. 

My sister and I came skipping up with these two long, water filled, condoms we called balloons. All the grownups jumped up, grabbed our balloons away from us, as our mother yanked us both over out of earshot range of the others. “Where did you get.. your(she stammered).. balloons?” My mother asked in a somewhat pained voice. I did not know what was wrong but every grown up was hysterical. Some were laughing, some were huffing and puffing in shock, some stared at me in silence.

I thought I had figured out the problem. I broke away from Mother and shouted to everyone, “The son of a cook has lots more… I’m sure he will share.”

Grandmother started laughing.

“I told you he was the son of a Siberian Sea Cook, and I was right. Now, let’s all look at this calmly and thank our lucky stars those water balloons did not land on one of us.” Everyone laughed.

I was very quiet the rest of the weekend because I still did not understand grownups at all. I did not go near the notion of filling a balloon with water again until grandmother educated me. She explained to me that sometimes daddy's use them to keep from getting their wives pregnant. That did not make sense to me.  I decided I had not invented anything at all.. they were supposed to be water balloons.  Then, I wondered how could throwing a water balloon keep anyone from having a baby? I wanted to ask more but she did not seem to want to talk about it. I knew one thing for sure it did not work on cats. I threw a water balloon on our cat and she still had kittens. I had learned that balloons are a complicated subject for adult... I had learned that much.  I also realized my sister did not get into trouble for throwing her balloon.  I guess they knew it was my idea.  Tricia was 4 and very cute... She could get away with anything.

I had learned being the Son of a Siberian Sea Cook was worse than being a Monkey's uncle.  I had no idea what a Siberian Sea was.  I wondered for several years what a Siberian Sea tasted like or where to find them and if you had to have special training to learn how to cook them.  Then I wondered why they did not call them Siberian Sea Chefs.  It was plain to see... my mission was just getting started.  As I look back I think about how much fun I have had learning through each phase of my mission.  One thing I am sure of the mission gets much easier if you learn to giggle every chance you get.

Tags: Memories Life

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Tags: Happiness Life

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When I was growing up my father took over when ever we cooked (on the grill) outside. I was his helper. Mother always did the salad and the baked potatoes and any other side dishes. Daddy was in charge of the meat. Granted, he was very good at it. He never prepared a bad meal. However, after many years as his assistant I was never given the roll to do it solo.

I was surprised to discover this attitude was shared by my first husband. He too was raised to believe that only men cooked... on the grill. I too assisted him with this endeavor but still wished just once I could do it on my own.

I had remarried after my first husband past. My second husband too wanted to be the grill master. All of this seemed to be something that I should accept. Then we started preparing for a big cook out. It was not big in size but in importance. My husband was a psychologist by trade but had finally completed and graduated from the seminary. That meant he could now establish his little country church. It was to be his first sermon given to three other clergymen in town. The sermon was to be followed by a "cook out". Plans were made, the menu set, and the date set several months ahead in anticipation of his graduation.

My husband was a 6'4", 250 pound man with a soft voice that would melt butter. He was a very gentle and compassionate person. It stands to reason his first sermon would be about these very things and expressing them in our daily lives. Things were moving along fantastic. Then Ray fell getting down from the podium and sprained his ankle to the point he could not walk without help. This also meant I would have to do the "cook out" solo.

I had everything prepared and set to take it all out to the grill. Boom, Boom, thunder sounded so loud it shook the windows. It started pouring rain. Boom, Boom, more rain. I think the pictures below will tell you exactly what I did.

It was a wonderful meal even if I do say so myself.

The lesson I learned that day is not let a little rain keep me from full filling a dream.  That song, 'Don't rain on my parade', is a good one to carry with us on our journey.  Retirement, some say, can rain on your parade.  But, it does not have to.  Grab an umbrella and keep cooking.  Remember it not how many times you fall down but how many times you get back up.

Tags: Memories Life

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Tags: Animals Children Life Humor

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Tags: Home Nature Humor Animals

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My late husband, Ray, known to his friends, clients, and colleges as “Doc” was a psychologist by trade. One of his doctorates however was in religion. He did not have a denominational church, but did teach Christian philosophy to a small group.

Ray and I had only been married about two years, but his tradition of going to downtown Dallas and picking up homeless people for the holidays had continued. We would rent a bus (school bus) and bring back homeless people for a Christmas prayer meeting, to be followed by a buffet, and ending with Christmas songs. We provided shelter for the night by means of bedding in the floor of the church/class room built as an extension to our lake house.

We started preparing for this meeting beginning right after the one we had for Thanksgiving. Ray always read the Christmas story from the bible. He had a wonderful speaking voice. The cold he had had a few weeks back had left him with a little hoarseness, but he was determined to proceed with our plans for the prayer meeting.

I wanted this to be a special Christmas for him. He had a lifelong dream of owning an African Gray Parrot. They were very expensive, most over $1,000, but I had found one for only $400. It had been owned by a man who had a dog training school. The problem was that when the dog classes were in session, Tilly, the parrot, would yell out commands (in the trainer’s voice) and create chaos for the class. The man needed to find Tilly another home quickly so he had lowered the price. I was delighted that she talked a lot and brought her home for a surprise Christmas gift. I discovered Tilly liked to talk to herself. Her constant chatter meant there was no way to wait till Christmas besides I was too excited to wait anyway.

Preparations for this special event were very involved. The meeting was still about two weeks away and Ray had contractors on the front deck creating short benches for seating during the meeting and also give each attendee a gift that would double as a shelter lined with carpeting to keep out the winter cold. When turned over the benches looked like large dog houses with doors that latched. While all this was going on at the lake house, Ray was in North Dallas, working at his psychology clinic about 30 miles away.

Ray had been very excited about Tilly. They really hit it off. I purchased a very large cage for her in the corner of the living room. Ray finished his work in town and came home a little early one evening. As usual, when he came through the door I would greet him, put my arms around his neck and give him a quick kiss. The minute I said, “Hi, Honey”; Brutus, our dog would run over and put his paws on Ray’s shoulders and put his chin on top of Ray’s head. It always made us laugh. Brutus was a 235 pound, completely cross-eyed Great Dane we had rescued from a breeder that was going to have him put down because of his defects. He was a gentle giant that stood 36” from the shoulder to the floor.

I had been listening to several records and recording the instrumental ones on a tape that would be used for the meeting. I had also been playing the ones with voices so I could write down all the words. I had been also typing up the words and making copies. I left for part of the day to make arrangements for a singer to lead the singing. I had fixed our evening meal and we were discussing the music that we would play at the meeting. All of a sudden, Tilly made a sound like a saw running, and then shouted “Sun Bich”. We do not curse so were astounded at what she said. She repeated it over and over, always preceded by the sound of a saw. Ray quickly called the contractor to find out if anything had gone wrong that day. The contractor reported that everything was on schedule despite the problems they had had with the electric saw. Ray grinned when he heard the xplanation. Tilly had picked up the sounds that had come from the front deck that day. That was just the beginning of Tilly's surprises for us.

Then Tilly started calling Brutus. He had his own sofa type love seat by the bay window in the living room. Tilly had started mimicking Ray’s voice and calling, “Brutus, Brutus, until Brutus would come over to the cage. Once Brutus got to the cage, in Ray’s voice, she would demand, “Get in your spot.” She was driving poor Brutus crazy. I told Ray he was going to have to work with Tilly so she would not keep repeating the curse words. He did. He worked with her for hours. She walked the full length of his arm and bobbed her head up and down as they played. I had done some research about parrots and learned that when parrots bond with their mates they would regurgitate their food and feed one another. Since Ray was not a parrot, Tilly would deposit her treasure behind his ear. It was gross to me, but Tilly was delighted that Ray allowed it. It seemed to strengthen the bond between them. Ray stopped me to show off how Tilly would now walk up his arm to his shoulder and put his head in Ray’s mouth. I thought it was revolting, but smiled and just said, “Oh, Wow.”

While Ray was working with Tilly, I continued to go through the Christmas records to find exactly what we needed for the prayer meeting. One of Ray’s closest friends had a wonderful singing voice and had promised to lead the singing the night of the meeting. I finally had found all the songs she requested at our meeting early in the day. Ray’s voice was not getting any better even after refilling the medication the doctor had given him. My concerns were shooed away by Ray, along with a pledge that the show must go on no matter what.

Everything was moving along like clockwork. The food was almost complete (all it needed was heating up), the tree in the classroom had been decorated, the benches completed and painted, Tilly had stopped cursing, Ray had gone through his final rehearsal for the reading and it was now Christmas Eve. Ray’s voice was now just above a whisper. I made some phone calls and made arrangements for microphone to be delivered. The bus had left to bring our guests.

While we waited Ray had moved Tilly’s cage out into the classroom. Tilly did not like being left totally alone and would whistle very loudly if she thought someone was in the house, but she could not see them. In order not to disrupt the meeting, it seemed easier just to move her so she too could enjoy the festivities. I really think Ray just wanted to show her off. Ray stood about 6’5” at the front of the classroom, dressed in a black suit, with his silver white hair shining, and his bible in his hand when the bus arrived. I was at the door (along with some helpers) greeting our guests and showing them where to sit. The song leader had arrived with a whiplash collar on around her neck. She had assured me she was going to try and sing anyway. I was praying for a miracle. Ray had no voice and the singer had no voice, but we were going to have a Christmas Prayer Meeting. I remember just quietly saying, “Dear Heavenly Father, this one is up to you.”

The room got quiet as Ray started to read the Christmas story. No one had remembered to take Tilly off her perch and put her back into her cage. She instantly flew to the top of Ray’s head. She continued, in his voice to recite the entire Christmas story, word for word. She had apparently been playing close attention when he was rehearsing.

At the end of the story, she made the sound like a saw and yelled, “Sun Bich”. The congregation thought she had said “Sunny Benches”. They all clapped and patted the beautiful benches they were sitting on. Ray instantly tried gently to grab her feet from the top of his head. While he was talking to her, his mouth was open part from amazement and partly because he was trying to speak. She stuck her head into his mouth and got a hold of his upper dentures and flew back to her perch with them in her claw.

She proceeded to hold on to them with one claw while she went into a full chorus of How Great Thou Art. Tilly was mimicking the voice of one of the sopranos whose record I had been playing. How do you interrupt a bird singing How Great Thou Art? The entire congregation had joined into the singing. When I attempted to quietly tug Ray’s teeth away from her she flew to the top of the tree. She did this without missing a note or dropping his teeth.

At the end of the song, She screamed in Ray’s voice, “Brutus, Brutus.” Brutus bound into the room and cleared three benches before reaching Ray. Brutus stood on his hind legs, put his front paws on Ray’s shoulder, and put his head on top of Ray’s head. The entire congregation, at first startled by this huge dog bounding over them started to laugh. Tilly immediately started singing, That Old Time Religion. The congregation joined in and sang along with her. Our song leader just shrugged her shoulders and joined in as well. Tilly proceeded to go from one song to the next for nearly three hours. When the
singing finally ended, she flew back to the top of Ray’s head and deposited his teeth in his pocket. With all the dignity he could muster, he replaced his teeth, and announced it was time to eat. He also said, “Brutus, get in your spot.” With that, Tilly started going through all the commands she had learned at the dog training school.

While we ate she had Brutus sit, stay, play dead, speak, roll over and shake hands. Brutus had shook hands with everyone who attended. When the evening was coming to a close Ray got up to lead the group in the Lord’s Prayer. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth. Suddenly, Ray’s voice was back in full force. Tilly stayed silent except for a soft whistle that sounded like a violin playing Silent Night. The next day everyone was so moved by the meeting they all pitched in to make gift baskets from the left-over food to take with them. They planned to distribute them to those who could not attend. One man had confessed that he had only come for the food and a place to sleep, but he was leaving with a full heart. When we loaded up the bus late Christmas evening, the entire group had congratulated Ray on being able to train his bird to do so much.

Ray thanked them for the compliment. No one said anything about her taking off with his teeth. Ray said he had no idea what to do. His voice was gone, his teeth were gone. Then he told himself it was not about him, but the message. Then he heard Tilly. What was really amazing is that Tilly had mimicked one of the best sopranos we had ever heard. She had not missed a single note or missed a single word of the bible lesson. The Christmas Prayer Meeting continued to be a tradition for 8 more years until Ray passed away. What was really funny is that Tilly would start reciting the Christmas story every time she heard Christmas music or the religious hymns mentioned earlier. This became a problem at Easter, Thanksgiving, The 4th of July, and New Years. No matter how many scriptures Ray would practice, the only one she would recite was the Christmas story. She always sang in soprano and preached in Ray’s voice. She was
a gift I gave with a lot of love, at the right time, that kept on giving. Tilly mourned after Ray passed until she finally passed away herself. Brutus passed away 6 years later.

Tilly, Ray, and Brutus are all gone now, but the story of the Christmas Prayer Meeting still lives thanks to this website. Thank you, for giving me the opportunity to retell one of my favorite Christmas memories.

Tags: Pets Christmas Home Life

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Ray and I had been married for about three years. Every Friday evening when he closed his clinic in North Dallas he would say, "I forgot the "Gone Fishin'"sign."  I was ready for him. I had created one and surprised him with it.

"You have been promising to take me fishing for 3 years now. Don't you think it is time you did it." Yes, that is what I said. How did I know that my next fishing trip would be my last.

Ray, grinned from ear to ear and his eyes twinkled. He agreed immediately. "We will go tomorrow. We will put this sign up on the lake house door and go fishing. You are such a clever girl. I gotta get all my gear out."

Our weekends at the lake house were always busy with people dropping by to see the local "preacher". Ray was a psychologist during the week and a preacher on the weekends. Saturday would be perfect. Now you must understand I had been my father's fishing buddy when I was growing up. That meant being very quiet and making sure to bring the fried chicken. Daddy would always fall asleep while holding the pole. Mom and I would just sit quietly and eat the fried chicken and know in our hearts how much Daddy was enjoying this fishing trip.

"I need to stop at the store and pick up some chicken for tomorrow." I said. I thought I would fry the chicken and store it in plastic that evening.

"We are going to eat fish tomorrow. Love, why do you take chicken on a fishing trip?" He said, with a peck on my cheek. I knew somehow our Gone Fishing Sign was a sign of surprises to come. We might need to pick up some corn meal. I knew about rolling fish in corn meal so that made sense. Grandmother had a boy friend who was always bring her fish after one of his trips. She had taught me about how to cook it.

"Ray, you are going to clean the fish... right?" Then I heard the magic words, "Yes, Dear." I smiled to myself. I knew everything was going to be just fine.

Did I mention that one of my hobbies had been raising tropical fish? We had a 200 gallon aquarium in the lake house office waiting room. When Ray counseled on the weekend his patrons would wait there. It was a fresh water aquarium. We had several more smaller ones scattered throughout the house. Now once you have raised fish, going fishing takes on a whole new light.

I did not think about that when I agreed to all this. I was prepared for eating chicken while he fell asleep holding the pole. How did I know that this man, whom I loved dearly, wanted to catch fish. We had everything loaded and stopped to get the bait. The bait turned out to be small fish he called minnows (I thought you used bits of chicken or worms)and he was going to put them on the hook to catch the bigger fish. It was clear I knew nothing about fishing.

We found a wonderful spot. An inlet with big rocks to sit on while we fished off the bank of the lake. I watched my dear sweet husband. The tender, soft spoken preacher I had learned to love, honor, and obey (when I could not talk him out of any other way); take a hook and put a minnow on it and throw it into the lake. I was horrified. That poor minnow. I could not do that. I told him I would bait my own hook. I then put the hook through the gill of the minnow so he could still swim and it would not hurt him. I gently tossed the line into the water. Low and behold I caught a fish almost immediately. I felt the tug on the line. Ray was very excited for me. I dreaded the idea of pulling in the line. I did it anyway. There was a tiny, 2 inch, cat fish on the end of the line with the minnow stuck in its mouth. It was way to small to eat. I asked if I could not just leave him on the line and use him for bait? Ray thought I was so smart. I tossed the line back out with minnow and catfish attached. I suddenly caught another fish. A baby bass about 3 inches, was on the end of the line. Thank goodness Ray was busy casting and not paying any attention to me. I did not say a word. I pulled in the line and carefully took the baby cat fish out of the mouth of the baby bass and discovered the minnow was still alive. I unhooked him and let him go in the lake. I figured he had worked hard enough.

We had a small bucket that I filled partly with lake water. I put my two babies into the bucket. I realized when I saw the bass try to swim he must have bruised his swim bladder when I brought him in. I decided I would put him in my hospital tank at home until it healed. Then I would release him back in the lake. The little catfish had torn a fin so I would doctor him too. Ray had been doing extremely well catching fish. He put a string through their gills and let it dangle in the lake while he went to bait another hook.

Ray had caught several fish, all very nice size bass. He went to get another minnow and discovered the minnow bucket was empty. He announced we probably had our limit and it was time to head to the house. I picked up the bucket I had hidden behind a rock as the last thing before we got back in the car. "What do you have there?"

"You caught your fish and I caught mine. You just wait till you see." Thank goodness he shrugged his shoulders and decided to let me have my way.

When we got home Ray headed to the kitchen to clean his fish and I headed to the hospital tank. Ray was a good cook too. He cleaned and cooked the fish while I made the hush puppies, sliced the lemons, and made the tarter sauce and mashed a few potatoes and threw together a small salad.

We sat and enjoyed our meal and watched the aquarium that now had a baby bass, a baby catfish and six minnows in it. That was my last fishing trip. Ray never took me again. We did raise the fish until the minnows grew into full grown carp and the baby bass grew up to about ten inches (Ray had nick named him eating size) and the catfish had a tank all his own. He developed a fondness for dog food.  

About a year later  one of Ray's friends asked, "Why don't you and Jane join my wife and I tomorrow. We are going fishing."

Ray, instantly waved his hands, "We just don't have enough room for another aquarium."  The look on the man's face brought a grin to Ray's face.  He waved the man over and motioned for him to sit down.  "Have I got a fish story for you my friend."  He then told him his favorite story about going fishing with Jane.

Tags: Home Life Fishing

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